Paths Chosen
by Tallgent
Summary: Dark, violent tale about Buffy and Angel conspiring to kill Spike with the amulet during Chosen. Warning: The story will contain character deaths and a descent into darkness and madness. This one ain't pretty, folks. Winner of the Gore Award.
1. Chapter One: Choices

Disclaimer: The characters contained within are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I'm just playing in the Buffyverse playground.

She had always made things difficult.

It came with the job she had learned. Buffy Summers knew something about the choices she had to make on that paranormal battlefield. Vampires as enemies. Vampires as friends. And, yes, vampires as lovers, both innocent and illicit.

It was the illicit one that most filled her head this year. The changes he had made. The soul. The suffering. And how they had managed to find…something. Friendship? Love? Something even more profound that she didn't have the articulation to express. Let alone define.

Who knew?

But in the arms that now held her tightly, supporting her burden, and engaging in a long-missed kiss of passion, one thing in her foggy existence became crystal clear. The floodgates had dried and the rainbow peeked out.

And she stepped back and gazed adoringly at her sun. Unbidden. Unrestrained. Unshackled to that other one and his loyalty and devotion.

What did he know of it? For her love has returned when she most needed him. When he had no reason to return. To fight at her side. Where he belonged.

The other. He knew of no other path but to follow her. To be with her. But seeing Angel now, puts it all into perspective. That other is a pale reflection. A sick clone. Bizarro to his Superman. She has awakened to the reality after blinding herself to the comforting illusions.

This, this vampire champion, her first love, was the key to completing her. She didn't need that other one anymore.

"Well, I guess that qualifies as being happy to see me," Angel quipped.

His voice warmed her throughout her body. Especially, in those areas only she and he knew about, when they couldn't consummate their love, but give each other tastes in all those zones they had mapped out and explored. They lit up from familiarity and pleasant personal memories. The kind she replayed in her mind and added to, leaving her in incomplete, frustrated rapture. But oh, God, did she give it her best.

"Angel what are you doing here?" she asked. But decided against spoiling this moment. Doing away with small-talk and filler. No. Their conversations were poetry. And she would hold up her end.

"Don't even. I just want to bask."

Shit! Maybe after all the General Park is done, Summers. You know? Macarthur?

"Okay, I'm basked," Buffy said seriously. _We're at war, dammit! Act like it! _"What are you doing here?"

Sadly, she couldn't tell whether the slight frown was from surprise at her imposed brusqueness or the gravity of the situation. But Angel recovered his adoringly fond smile and her zones sang once more.

"Not saving the damsel in distress, that's for sure."

Oh, my love. You have no idea how much you've…No, keep it light. It'll come when it comes, but don't force it.

"Not much for the damseling," Buffy replied. "You know me."

Before Buffy could express her gratitude for saving her, Angel strode back to get his folder. "Got your share of distress, though."

Buffy shook her head in bemused admiration. "You heard?"

"I got coverage on the whole thing. Very gripping," he said lightly. "Needs a third act."

Buffy inwardly winced. That was one of the lamest jokes she'd ever heard. What the hell was that place doing to him? Her Angel always knew the right thing to say that would make him…a paragon of heroism. She loved him, no question. But the bad puns were more evidence how L.A. had diminished him. He was a vampire legend, a Champion!

She would bring him back to his stature. Where he would stand loyally at her side. The Vampire and his Lady Slayer. His queen.

She fingered the scythe involuntarily. Gripping it a bit tighter. "You have got to get out of L.A.," she managed.

Quickly, Angel regained his heroic stoicism. What made the Slayer insecure in love become drawn by love's undeniable pull. She surrendered willingly. Giving everything she had, save her life. And if he asked , she realized she would have given that up as well. She almost did. When he drank from her. The memory made her moist. How her brain screamed out _"Devour me! Eat me!"_

But it was the time when she laid her virginity out for him to take she remembers most. It was wonderful. Beautiful. He was so gentle and she so trusting. Such a child, yet no longer. And what it wrought was so horrific.

Even more so because she was still drawn to him even without a soul. She was scared then. Young. But now she secretly wants the challenge to take him and debase him and make the great Angelus hers. To fuck. And fuck. And fuck.

And eventually he would love her just as that other loved her. His rival, she thought with a smirk. Because she had the power to make them. William and Angel both wrapped inexorably around her finger.

Spike had taught her well what she was capable of. She'd have to thank him later.

"It's the First, right?" Angel said bringing Buffy reluctantly back to the present. "The First Evil. The power that tried to convince me to kill myself."

She fought to shrug it off, the time when he was at his lowest. She could have killed him back then, because of his weakness. If it happened again, she would have no trouble at all.

No! Stop it. That isn't Spike. It's Angel! You love Angel!

Don't you?

"It's gotten a bit more ambitious since then," she explained. "It's trying to raise an army."

Angel scoffed and Buffy swooned. "Yeah, well I'm here to tell you--"

And suddenly, Angel was thrown skidding across the floor where he bumped his head. Buffy stared in horror as her beloved was knocked unconscious and heard the hateful drawl.

"Are you ready to finish this? Bitch?"

It was that last word's exaggerated inflection that took some of the murderous anger from Buffy's sails. And it suited her just fine. She needed to stay focused, regardless of Angel's incapacitation.

And then how she would kill him.

"Okay, how many times I gotta kill you? Ballpark figure?"

Good Summers. Don't let him faze you. Throw him off. And then kill him. Slowly.

She thought of Spike's misogyny then. His taunts. The way he almost violated her in that bathroom. Dared act like she was weak. Why did she spare him, she thought bitterly. I should have buggered him with a flaming plunger handle. See how he liked being violated. _Channel it, Summers. Think of Spike. Think of Spike. Think of Spike and his pathetic attempt to gain your favor with that soul. Making a mockery of Angel. How dare he!_

Caleb's no better than him. Use it.

"You understand nothing," Caleb boasted.

And the game was joined. Punches were hurled, kicks were loosed. The primal rage that fuelled Buffy. The rage Spike had introduced her to. The rage she would always have knowledge of thanks to that damned, obsessive, sick thing that needed to be ended. For her sake. For the world's sake.

Her punches flew faster. Hit harder. And she grinned in orgasmic ecstasy from the crunching sound of flesh on flesh and the splatter of blood that filled her senses. She indulged in it, that bloodlust.

"You think you have power over me? Stupid girl!" Caleb spit, black poisoned blood dripping from his mouth. "You don't have the ba--"

Neither do you. Buffy thought. Then taking her sweet time, she slowly sliced him open. The more he screamed, the more enflamed she became. At some point, just briefly, and looking back chalking it up to her imagination, she thought she heard Caleb beg for mercy. And she finished the job with relish. Beaming with pride that she made a servant of the most powerful evil in existence beg. The power she had. Somehow or another they all begged when it came to her. For love. For mercy. To be part of her family. And it was all up to her.

It was like a drug. That power.

Angel shot up in fury. "All right now I'm pissed. Where is he?"

She let herself have this pun for old times sake. She missed it sometimes. But she shrugged it off. She was a girl back then.

Angel would know her and love her as a woman.

"He had to split," she snorted.

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Shrouded in shadows, silently watching stood Spike with the First hissing its temptations. Playing a desperate hand.

Spike just continued to watch as the woman he loved and his hated rival enjoyed their reunion. Strange how resigned he was to it all. Maybe the soul really had made him soft.

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Buffy took the folder, wanting desperately to feel his hands again. But the transfer was too quick, much to her annoyance.

"I'll have the guys go through it. See if there's anything we can use. Reliable source?"

Angel sighed grimly. Buffy swooned.

"Not remotely," he muttered.

"Any port in an apocalypse," she reassured him, her hand running possessively along the scythe handle.

"Brought something else as well," Angel said. Then he pulled out the gaudiest looking piece of crap Christmas ornament Buffy had ever seen. She was growing frustrated. No champion of mine is going to be seen with that hideous thing!

"Got nothing to go with that," Buffy joked with effort.

"It's not for you."

Thank God.

"Splainy?"

Way to make him see the woman, Summers. Hopeless bitch.

"I don't know everything," Angel admitted. Buffy sighed at Angel's ignorance. My Champion will be on top of things! She would divest him of all his flaws, even if he ended up resenting her.

After all, Spike had divested her of her naive faith and goodness. And she became a better weapon because of it.

"It's very powerful and probably very dangerous. It has a purifying power, a cleansing power, possibly scrubbing bubbles. The translation is, uh—anyway, it bestows strength to the right person who wears it."

Oooh, it has power!

"And the right person is?"

"Someone ensouled," Angel said heroically with Championly swagger. "But stronger than a human. A Champion. As in me."

Buffy inwardly laughed at Angel's cocky assumptions. _I'm not that little girl anymore, Angel. I wear the power around Sunnydale. But you'll learn that soon enough._

"Or me."

"No. I don't know nearly enough about this to risk letting you wear it."

So it might be dangerous. Hold on here. Maybe I was too hasty.

"Besides you got that axe-thing."

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Spike could bear this hell no longer. He left.

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Buffy's hand fondled and stroked the handle, an evil glint in her eye.

"So you're gonna be with me in this?" she asked.

"Shoulder to shoulder," Angel nodded. "I'm yours."

She thought it would take longer to make her choice. It was a tough call. Just like old times, indeed. She had missed them so. His touch. His lips. The way he fought on her team--they fought as a team.

God, how she wanted that back.

So she made the choice that guaranteed she'd have a chance. And naturally, he wasn't happy.

"Why not?"

"Because I can't risk you," she honestly told him.

"You need me in this."

Conceited bastard. I'll cure you of that as well

"No, I need you gone," she argued.

"Why?"

Dammit. Don't you get it, yet?

"If I lose, if this thing gets past Sunnydale, then it's days—maybe hours—before the rest of the world goes. I need a second front, and I need you to run it."

Angel crossed his arms skeptically. Buffy took note and her hand clamped down on the scyth again.

"Okay, that's one reason," he said. "What's the other?"

Buffy strode swiftly past him not even bothering to meet his eyes.

"There is no other."

"Is it Spike?"

She almost got to the fucking gate, too.

"You're not telling me something. And I remember his scent pretty well."

Buffy whirled around to stare at him. _Of all the audacious thoughts! Can I help it if he doesn't lose his soul after I bang him a hundred times! Have you forgotten?_

But she shrugged it off. She had to. If he knew the truth, he would never forgive her. And she would make him pay for that.

"You vampires," she laughed. "Did anyone ever tell you the smelling thing was gross."

Angel didn't let up. Buffy's teeth gritted and the scythe was begging to be used.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

Buffy sighed. She wanted to assure him so desperately, but she couldn't help resenting his faithlessness in their love. Spike taught her how to toy with others in their sickly satisfying games. So she would use that knowledge to teach her loved one a lesson.

"Is that your business?" she threw back.

Angel stared at her in incomprehensible disbelief. "Are you in love with him? Maybe I'm outta line, but we are talking about Spike here."

Okay, Angel. You say you love me and you wanna be with me. Now's your chance to prove it.

"It's different. He's different," she challenged. Buffy smirked as she dropped the kicker. "He has a soul now."

Angel stood silent for a second, trying to grasp all this. Buffy waited for his response in anticipation.

"Oh, well," Angel pouted. "That's great."

Buffy couldn't believe it.

Idiot! Challenge him for my hand! Fight for me, you jackass!

She thought about her next move.

Maybe he needs more incentive. Really slam it home.

"He'll make a difference."

"I started it," Angel said angrily. "Before it was all the cool new thing."

Now Buffy was completely flabbergasted. This is not what she expected at all._ The sonuvabitch is walking all over your turf! The turf that I will gladly trod upon in humble adoration and love with you. We can bring each other back into the light!_

So go back there and kill him!! For me!!!

"God, are you twelve?" Buffy mocked, trying to emasculate him into action.

"I'm getting the brushoff for Captain Peroxide! It doesn't bring out the Champion in me!"

A child, Buffy thought bitterly. _I'm in love with a two-hundred-plus old child._

"You're not getting the brushoff," she admonished. She thought of something else to bring out his darkness. Another thing to thank Spike for. Once she was afraid of it, now she wanted to gorge herself in it.

Gotta hand it to the bleached bastard. Thanks to him, she discovered dark strength she didn't even know she was capable of.

"Are you gonna get Dawson on me every time I have a boyfriend?"

"Aha!" Angel exclaimed. "Boyfriend!"

"He's not!" she practically screamed. But she pushed a bit more. Maybe she would go and kill Spike and it would all be over. But even if she didn't this was just too much damn fun.

"He is in my heart," she admitted coyly.

Angel threw up his hands. "That'll end well."

"What was the highlight of our relationship," Buffy shrugged. "When you broke up with me or when I killed you?" Her hand refused to loosen up on that scythe handle. And she stared at the blade absent-mindedly.

"I'm well aware of my stellar history with guys…," Buffy sighed regrettably. Scott Hope with no head. Parker with no testicles, crying like a bitch as she would skewer him, pulling out his organs with the scythe one by one. Allowing the vampire whores to fuck and drain Riley at all his main arterial points while Buffy would force the monsters to do it at scythe point. Spike. _Oh, Spike. You have no idea what I'd do to you. And I'd let it go on for days and days until I couldn't think of anything else I could possibly do to you with the scythe._

"And, no, I don't see fat grandchildren in the offing with Spike, but I don't think that really matters right now," she says wistfully. She thinks for a moment, trying for philosophical profundity and briefly recalling that philosophy professor possessed by a succubus. She should have tried harder to save her, but, oh well. She was flunking her anyway.

"You know, in the midst of all this insanity, a couple things are actually starting to make sense. And the guy thing—I always feared there was something wrong with me, you know, because I couldn't make it work. But maybe I'm not supposed to."

Damn straight. Men suck. Spike's selfless actions have sucked the soul right out of me. He dared to one up me!

One up him.

"Because you're the Slayer?" Angel asks.

Buffy sighs frustrated with Angel's attempt at simplicity. She fights down an urge to pummel him for his stupidity. And also because it would feel great.

But she loves him. So she lets his fallibility slide.

"Okay," she begins haltingly. "I'm cookie dough."

The minute I see some kind of hitching, smirking, or hear any chuckling. I'm dicing him, love or no.

Satisfied that Angel's keeping serious-face, she goes on.

"I'm not finished becoming whoever the hell it is I'm gonna turn out to be. I make it through this, and the next thing, and the next thing, and maybe one day I turn around and realize I'm ready. I'm cookies. And then, you know, if I want someone to eat—"

Devour me! Swallow me whole! She forces herself back to the present before she can succumb to her romantic past.

"---or enjoy warm, delicious cookie me, then...that's fine. That'll be then. When I'm done."

Angel tries hard to process all this, doing his best to be as subtle as he can about the fact that his tongue is bleeding due to the teeth clamped down on it.

"So any thought who might enjoy--" He lets the line drop as he has no effort to finish with such a stupid metaphor.

If Buffy could read his thoughts, he wouldn't be getting out of Sunnydale at all. He wouldn't even be solid.

"Not thinking that far ahead," she shrugs. "Kind of the point."

Accepting, not satisfied but accepting, Angel hands the amulet over to Buffy. She finally gets to feel those hands for a brief period. She commits it to every memory in the brain where her bank is stored.

"Guess I'd better start working on that second front," he sighs. "Make sure I don't use it."

Angel slinks back into the shadows. For Buffy the moment runs in slow-motion. He glides through the mist and she sees the way his physicality expresses itself through his powerful strides. She licks her lips and can't help herself.

"Angel!"

He turns around.

"Sometimes, I do," she says sheepishly. "Sometimes I do think that far ahead."

Angel can't help but grin back. "Sometimes is something."

He needs something. A promise. Anything. I can't just let him go like that. He needs to fear straying from me.

"Be a long time coming. Years if ever," she says warningly. And for good measure she starts playing with the scythe.

She hopes he got the message.

"I ain't getting any older," he says. And soon his image fades into the inky night.

You'll come back for me. Buffy fingers the amulet, pondering her next move. She grins as her Machiavellian instincts create a scheme out of the ether where once stood the temple of her innate morality.

I'll make sure of it.


	2. Chapter Two: Confrontation

Someone--or something--is getting the living hell beat out of it as she descends to her basement.

And sure enough, as she suspected, Spike stands in readiness as he halts the momentum of the body bag

She almost feels sorry for him. Almost.

"So where's tall, dark, and forehead?" he asks. His English brogue pulls at her consciousness as she remembers the first time she heard it. Outside the Bronze. He called her love.

Should have killed him then. Knowing what she knows now, be better off for everyone. For her and Angel, especially.

But she'll put up with him a while longer. He still has uses.

"Let me guess. You can smell him?"

Spike nods. Buffy can't help but marvel at his calmness throughout this. Fuck him. Fuck him and that soul. He has no idea how hard it is for Angel. No concept of what a privilege a soul is. Instead, he's making jokes. Shrugging it off. Life's just one big joke, isn't it?

I want you in pain, dammit!

"Yeah, that and I used my vampire eyeballs to watch you kissing him."

Get off on it?

"It was a hello," she reassures him, satisfied that he'll just scurry up to her side like before. Dog that he is.

"Most people don't use their tongues when they say hello," he counters sarcastically. It surprises Buffy for just a minute. The soul has given him a backbone, she thinks in disbelief.

Who the fuck does he think---!

"There were no tongues," she tells him. _Wasn't enough time._ "Besides," she continues. "He's gone."

"Oh, just stopped by for a quicky then?" Spike has held up surprisingly well. Better than Angel, in fact.

And Buffy hates him all the more for it.

"Good!" she says exasperated. "I haven't had enough vampire crap for one night!"

"He wears lifts, you know."

Like that makes any difference, you arrogant piece of--

"You know, one of these days, I'm gonna put you two into a room and let you rassle it out," she sighs. Buffy thinks back to her roundabout attempts to get Angel to do exactly that, excepting the harmlessness of wrestling. Buffy wanted to make love with Angel on top of Spike's ashes. Instead….I'm no better, she thought ruefully. Treating all of this like a joke. Angel's no joke. _And I'm treating him like one._

"There could be oil involved," she added for good measure. Keeping it light for what she hoped would be easy persuasion.

"Where's the trinket?" Spike asked. Buffy had to admit she was thrown by this. She didn't expect it so soon.

But she would make him work for it.

"The who-ket?"

"The necklace your sweetie-bear gave you," Spike emphasized.

Buffy's hand balled into a fist.

I'm going to make sure you wear it for that. Trivializing our love. I'm gonna sear that thing right onto your fucking---

"The one with all the power. I believe it's mine now," Buffy heard pass from Spike's lips.

"How do you figure?"

"Someone with a soul, but more than human? Angel meant to wear it, that means I'm the qualified party." Spike held out his hand fully expecting to get it. Buffy wanted to conk him in the head with it repeatedly. Finish what she started in that alley. She regretted stopping it so soon.

But she played him this far.

"It's volatile. We don't know--"

"You'll need someone strong to bear it then," he insisted..

Okay, time for my last card., Buffy thought. The one that'll make him bite.

"Angel said the amulet was meant to be worn by a Champion," Buffy said softly, adding just a touch of solemnity to make the whole thing noble. No way would Spike resist this.

Spike only looked down in acceptance. Keeping her impatient anger under wraps, Buffy handed Spike the amulet.

The look in his eyes as he gazed at it almost melted her. Almost.

"Been called a lot of things in my time," he whispered to himself.

No. I will not let it go like this. He's just playing me, like always. He tried to rape me!

"Faith still has my room," she said. She meant it to sound harsher and more like an order, but she was still affected by the look of naked wonder on his face.

Has he really been denied so much?

"Well, you're not staying here," he said loudly, somewhat insulted.

Buffy's heart immediately froze again at his impertinence. _Bastard thinks he's worth something. I should have brought you along with me. So Angel would have fought and killed you on the spot. Why am I so weak when it comes to you?_

"You can't just buy me off with shiny trinkets and sweet talk," Spike declared. "You have Angel breath."

Buffy bristled at that but kept herself in check. Needed to play it out to the end. No matter what.

"Won't let you whack me back and forth like a rubber ball. I got my pride, you know?"

The nerve of him to say that. He disgusts me.

But she knows what makes him tick. What'll keep him docile at her side.

"I understand," she says. And starts a slow deliberate walk to the stairs. Right on cue, Spike stops her.

"Clearly you don't since that whole pride thing was a smokescreen."

My own clockwork vamp, Buffy mused triumphantly_. I'm the substitute for that chip of his now. He doesn't act unless I say so. Fight unless I give the word. Comfort me until I allow him to comfort. It's like a drug._

"Thank God." She pasted on a smile of relief.

Spike, ever loyal Spike, gazed adoringly at her. She tried to stifle a laugh. "I don't know what I would have done, you'd gone up those stairs."

Without thinking, she caressed his cheek unwillingly touched by his bared emotion. It was almost too much.

It was a good thing she had Slayer healing, she was reminded of afterwards. Because when she relived the moments in her mind, she would meticulously cut her arms with Mr. Pointy in a daze. Dragging the point across her skin to let the cleansing blood seep out.


	3. Chapter Three: Setup

The plan was set. Everyone knew their tasks. At least where the mission was concerned.

For Buffy, her personal ends were a different matter.

It had helped though that the First had thought of Spike as her lover. As long as it thought that way, her real love was safe.

One more sign of the stupidity that is evil, Buffy smirked. _My ultimate enemy turns out to be a moron. Now I know how Bugs Bunny feels. This should be a cinch._

As Buffy began walking back to her house, or Fort Summers as Xander sometimes called it, _Alexander One-Eye_, she smirked, she noticed a card that Angel had slipped into her hand. It was Angel's business card but without the crudely drawn insignia that Angel had told her was supposed to be an angel. She smiled softly. He was a bit bothered that she hadn't recognized it.

Instead, this one had the title of Wolfram and Hart. Buffy made a note to ask him about this later.

So now her troops were gathered indoors. Dawn was telling stories. Giles, Xander, Anya, Andrew, and_….Amanda, right? Ah, who cares._ They were playing D&D.

She never understood the cartoon as a little kid. And she sure as hell didn't want to know anything about the game.

She checked her cell phone clock. It was time.

Walking a ways from her house, Buffy pulled out the card and began dialing. After a pace of fifteen steps, four rings, and six consecutive "Come on, come on"s, she heard the click of a receiver being retrieved.

"Wolfram and Hart. Angel, speaking."

She stuttered momentarily. Part of her didn't even know where to begin. "Angel, it's me."

She had expected an alertness at the sound of her voice. Instead, it just sounded tired. Buffy bristled at that.

"Buffy. Everything going all right?"

"About to be as expected, Going-Straight-to-Hell Eve," she sighed. "So have you found out anything more about the amulet?"

"Don't waste time, do you?"

"Not when I have our future to worry about. What did you find?"

There was a long drawn out pause. Buffy was scared she'd lost the line. She said his name again. In that desperate manner that was now like instinct.

"The amulet channels the power of sunlight through it creating massive amounts of destructive solar energy. Plus maybe something mystical from the soul, I dunno," Angel droned. But then the words got heavier, or his voice did, Buffy wasn't sure. "But it kills whoever is bearing its power. You're gonna sacrifice one of your own, Buffy."

Suddenly, all the weight left Buffy's shoulders. _This was meant to be. I'm supposed to scacrifice Spike so Angel and I can be together. Fate is with me in this. I'm doing it right!_

"It's nobody, Angel," Buffy blurted before she think of something with more tact. "I gave it to Spike."

She waited for Angel to answer her. She waited some more.

"Buffy," he said very softly. "He has a soul."

"Yeah, and? Better him than you. He's doing it for us, honey!"

"How could you be so--Buffy, it should have been me!"

"Well, if I woulda looked that tacky with it, I'd hate to imagine how you'd manage to pull it off."

"Dammit, Buffy! We're talking about premeditated killing here. Murder."

"Shut up!" she spat viciously, flinching from that word. "Shut up. It's a sacrifice and it's done. You and I will be together and it's too late for him. He made his choice."

"He did it for _you_, Buffy! He has no idea what's going to happen to him!" he screamed just as harshly back. Buffy shrugged it off that his voice seemed to crack and waver. She blamed it on the crappy cell phone. "He deserves that much."

"He deserves a whole hell of a lot more than that," she seethed. Spittle flew from her mouth like a rabid animal. "He got his soul. For me."

"What?"

Buffy smiled. Angel could act as righteous all he wanted, but that rivalry would always be there. It was the wound he always picked at. She was going to use a shovel.

I'm doing this for us, love. Forgive me.

"Spike hurt me in ways I can't even say out loud," she continued. "And not that it makes any difference to me. He's already damned in my eyes for what he did to me. But he got his soul to appease me. So he could be a good man, a man worth loving."

Angel said nothing for a long time. "Some would say that's admirable, Buffy."

"Yes, some would say it is," she agreed. "And therefore he's beaten you."

"This isn't a contest!"

"He's beaten you, Angel! He's…done what I can't see myself or you ever doing. But I don't care. I love you. But if you can't commit yourself to this, then I _will _be with him. And I will let him love me and worship me and adore me. The way that you used to. The way you still do."

"Buffy…"

"Is that what you want? To lose to him? Because he'll finally defeat the mighty Angelus. He'll get the girl. He'll get the Slayer. And Angel…" Buffy's voice became hypnotic and seductive. "This Slayer's learned some new tricks since the last time. And I might want to see him again."

"Don't even joke about that," Angel choked out. "I'd never risk that. And you should be ashamed of yourself for even thinking it."

Buffy's face grimaced in frustration. "Angel, think about where you are. You're in the most powerful evil entity in the world, hell, maybe in every dimension there fucking is. There must be some way you can lift that curse so we can be together. I held up my end with Spike. And now it's your turn."

"But Buffy, my…mission. Our missions. What would it have been for then? Everything? Doyle. Cordy. Con…

"I don't give a shit about Doyle or Cordy. He's dead. Cordy's probably doing her nails. I care about us. If you love me, you will find a way."

She heard Angel swallow something over the phone. "Is that blood?"

"No. No, it's, um, bourbon."

"Eww!"

Angel sighed. "Buffy, please. I'm…..I don't know what happened to you, but I swear I'll get you back somehow."

"I hope so," Buffy said shakily. She toughened up immediately. Cold. She would have to be cold for at least twenty-four more hours. Then she could be free to love him. "Now what will you do?"

"I …I could maybe ask one of the mystics in Wesley's…'

"Threaten them," she shrugged lightly. "They're evil."

Angel paused. "I'd be putting my friends in danger."

"What we always do. What I'm doing right now. I'm surprised you're not used to it, yet."

"Yeah." She heard Angel pouring another drink. She had no compunctions with slamming him in the head with that carafe or whatever the fuck container he had. He would not be a drunk like that pig while he was hers.

That pig who's finally setting himself up for the slaughter. How poetic.

"Angel?"

"I…I could probably muscle one of their weaker ones."

What was it Spike had quoted to her that one time from Shakespeare? After he had finished with her? Kill the lawyers?

"Make sure they don't retaliate against you. Or your gang. Send a message. Kill a lawyer."

Again, she marveled at all the ticks she thought she was hearing on the other end. Sounds like a gasp and a sob.

What the hell was with her phone?

"I can't …I can't do that, Buffy. Not ag…"

"We're in this, Angel," Buffy said with machinelike resolve. "You and me. You got yourself involved when you gave me that amulet. And now we're gonna see this through. Right to the end. You back out on me, so help me God…"

"Okay," he whispered.

"What?"

"I'm in," he gritted.

"That's my guy," she breathed with relief.

"What happened to you, Buffy Summers?"

It was such a sad question, and Buffy was about to close the cell, but she brought it back up to her ear. She spoke as tersely as she could into it.

"A lot of living, Angel. And some dying," she mumbled. Somewhat to herself.

"And Spike," Buffy added more clearly for his ears.

"I wish I would have made him pay for what he did to you. But it all changes now, Buffy. Don't you…"

"He's already paying, Angel. And I love you for it."

"We're damned," he hitched out "You know that, right?"

Buffy couldn't help but chuckle sadly. Something wet trickled down her cheek and she wiped at it annoyed. It's not even hot, and she's sweating.

But somewhere deep inside, where if she only listened she would hear the screaming grief, she knows different.

But instead she merely said, "At least we're damned together."

The Slayer ended the reception. And she began the long walk to that basement of betrayal. Back into that other's arms.

Twenty-four more hours.


	4. Chapter Four: Fantasies

The stink wouldn't come off.

She had tried the industrial soap, the spray, a washcloth, and she had rubbed her arms past the epidermis but she still smelled like him. Tobacco and liquor.

She had never felt so invaded before.

No, scratch that.

Buffy was determined to see this through. That amulet was the key to everything. To victory. To her happiness.

To Angel.

She hated this. And it had nothing to do with the act itself. That monster had it coming.

It was the way she was keeping him in it. Everything was going smoothly. And it had everything to do with her.

She knew she was going to do some unforgivable things with this. How could she not? But to be in those arms again and feeling his flimsy attempts at comfort and love just made her scrub all the harder. That stink wouldn't come off!

They had sex when she got back.

It wasn't supposed to happen, but she realized that was the only way to commit him to this. He was hers now.

Christ, it made her feel dirty. It was so different from the past hundred times when she was fucking a shell. This time was uncomfortably familiar to her. It reminded her of when she and Angel made love.

No, scratch that. It was…just about as good as when she and Angel made love.

But it was still sex. Nothing more. Gentle, soothing sex that made her feel at home. Made her almost feel loved. But it was still coming from a disgusting creature. It still wasn't Angel.

That sonuvabitch just doesn't know when to stop. To even have the gall to try for that kind of love is beyond her. How evil can one being possibly be? To dare reach for that kind of sacred love that she and Angel had? Pervert it to his own ends? Degrade it? That was private. And she'd kill anyone who tried to impose that on her who wasn't him.

And I let him try! her mind screamed. Her hands rubbed harder, trickles of red appeared on her arms.

Guess I'll have to live with it. And it will all be over soon anyway.

As she stepped out and dried, she had a sudden urge to vomit. She had done it before. All the big apocalypses in her past caused some kind of nerves. But as she investigated her leavings she didn't remember eating anything with Marinara before. It looked like a dark red. Almost like--

Have to get ready.

As she was leaving the bathroom, she flashed back to that time again. She did it a lot of the time, mostly focusing on her pain. But for some reason, probably because the idiot was going to die today, she thought about Spike's face. How horrified it looked. She never did let him finish that sentence. Didn't really need to hear the rest of it. Didn't matter.

Why couldn't it have been the mirror, she reflected regrettably. Why did it have to be the wall. If he smashed the mirror, there would have been glass shards. Could have pinned him. Taken the point to his face, his eyes. Carved all sorts of symbols and words all over that face of his. That handsome, flawless face save for that defining scar. Heard him scream her name and cry and beg. See if he discovered what "No!" really meant. All the while getting her revenge for that and all the other times he fucked up her life. Making such a simple equation more complicated. Why the fuck did he have to go get a soul?! Was he that deluded to think it would make a difference? That it would change anything?

I don't forget. I forget and I've failed. As a Slayer. As a Champion. As someone who's good.

Buffy walked back down the stairs trying to pick up where she left off_. Screaming. Yes, that's it. He would be screaming and bleeding. Bleeding and screaming. Xander would walk in, probably surprised. Most likely appalled, though for what reason I can only guess. Then I'd scream at him what Spike tried to do. And Xander would get pissed, start kicking him. I'd hit Xander upside the head and hand him the bloody glass shard. He'd probably refrain for some reason. Then run to get a stake. And I'd grab the blind disfigured once handsomely devilish William the Bloody and throw him down to the first floor. Cut his Achilles_ _Tendons so he couldn't walk. And just like Wesley in The Princess Bride the only thing I'd let him keep are his ears so he can hear the other demons recoil in horror and laugh. That ubercellulited skin freak would finally avoid him. (Maybe I should have killed him, too.) And then before I throw him out, I'd gut him so that his insides began spilling out. Saw through his tongue slowly and deliberately. Then I'd wave tata and send him on his merry way with a solid punch that would widen the splits I made on his leaking face._

And I'd laugh and laugh. Scream obscenities at him defiantly. "I am woman" kind of shit. Then after I took care of Warren and his rejects, I'd find him to finish the job. Eventually.

When she reached the bottom, the shmuck appeared in the hallway with a small smile and look of love and pride. He handed her the amulet, and Buffy panicked as she thought he was giving it up.

And then he bent over and she got what he wanted her to do. She placed the amulet around his neck. He straightened up and his smile got bigger, the love and pride just glowing from it.

She felt like throwing up again.

I can't wait to see what that amulet does to you.

She returned his smile.


	5. Chapter Five: Execution

_I can't even tell us apart anymore._

Buffy stared dazedly up at the First, life ebbing out of her at an alarming rate. And the apparition took its time to kneel down and chat with her.

"Ow! Mommy! This mortal wound is all itchy," it taunted.

Sounds like something I'd say.

"You pulled a nice trick, " it admitted. "You came pretty close to smacking me down. What more do you want?"

If only it kept its mouth shut, maybe things might have been different, however…

"I want you," Buffy puffed. Then forced herself on her knees never losing eye contact.

"To get out of my face!"

And naturally it disappeared. _If only everything else I faced vanished so easily. Speaking of, wonder if it's kicked in yet?_

Regaining the scythe from Rona, she sliced through five Turok-Han. Faced down two more, decapitating them and watching as they dematerialized into dust. She stabbed at an eighth, imagining it to be Spike she had stabbed her staked end through. Imagining the look of shock as he faded into oblivion, wondering briefly if his essence would be in Hell. And if he was suffering for eternity.

How proud Angel would be of me right now. Mom. I'm the best Slayer there ever was, ever will be. I am going to win!

It was then she saw the blue light escape from Spike, piercing a hole in the cavern top, the school roof, and the sunlight pouring in. The sun embraced him and solar streams shot out obliterating all in its path.

For a second she couldn't move. He was…glowing. Glowing with such radiant beauty. He called out her name.

And unconsciously called out his. She ran for him.

From the description Angel had given her, it sounded horrible. The one wearing the amulet would be a conduit for enormous amounts of energy, too much for any one being to even think about taking on alone.

Yet, there he was. Taking it. With no real expression of pain. He wasn't crying out. Screaming in torment. He looked almost…beatified.

Wonder alighted his face. Awe. Like she vaguely remembered from heaven. Sense memories she could only find again in her dreams, and even then sporadically. And as Buffy ran to him, avoiding the rays, and the rest of her troops got the hell out of there, she felt such unquenchable anger and envy.

He doesn't belong there. He's not the hero! I am! I suffered more than he did. I had to go through killing my greatest love, my mom dying, putting up with some mystically constructed teenage brat, sacrificing myself for her worthless ass, getting pulled out of heaven, granting my friends their lives when they deserved nothing but death at my hand, and finding myself again after wasting my life in his darkness. I should be there! And Angel should be at my side, begging to stay. And of course, he wouldn't leave me and I wouldn't let him! We would die in each other's arms as it should be, forever bound by our love, and I would go to heaven. But he…he gets it?!! Him?!!! He's my savior?!!!

"I can feel it, Buffy," he whispered awestruck.

Curiosity got the better of her and she asked what it was. And that nauseous feeling returned.

"My soul. It's really there," he breathed. His face beamed with love and humility as Buffy stared at Spike touching a piece of the divine spark that he fought for. That God had granted him again by his own doing. And he was filled with such peace.

I should be wearing it! I should be getting the peace! It's mine! I 'm the Slayer!! He's touching God Himself! I SHOULD BE TOUCHING GOD!! I SHOULD BE TOUCHING GOD!!

"Kinda stings."

You're dying, you fool. This is when you should be penitent. Pleading for your sins to be forgiven! Crying out for mercy! And they'll never be forgiven! Not while I live! I hate you and God hates you!! The Slayer is God's instrument!! I'm His warrior against evil like you. You don't deserve to wear that!! It was a mistake!!

"Go on then," he said calmly but firmly.

Oh, no. No, you're not gonna get glory in my sight. Not while I'm standing here. You're not gonna prove you're better than me, vampire!

"No, no, you've done enough. You can still…," she pleaded. _Act like you care. And he'll take it off. Then you can kick the dog to the Ubervamps and watch as they rend him apart your name on his lips. Then it's mine. And I get to die in peace and finally rest. I get to die with dignity, while his legacy is tainted forever the way it should be. Then you don't beat me! Selfless acts or no, I'm still the fucking Slayer! I'm the chosen one! I get the glory! Me!_

"No, you beat them back," Spike stated gently. "It's for me to do the cleanup."

GIVE ME THE FUCKING AMULET, YOU RIGHTEOUS PIECE OF SHIT!!!

Buffy heard Faith call her name at the top of the stairs. She wanted to impale the slutty bitch with her scythe as she stared at Spike honestly going through with it, going out a hero. Just another twisted, topsy-turvy punch line in the supernatural world of Buffy Summers.

I hate my fucking job.

"Gotta move lamb," he gently told her. "I think it's fair to say school's out for bloody summer."

You don't get to tell me what to do. You never get to tell me what to do! I decide when I should leave! I won't leave until I know you're suffering! Until you're at the point where you start screaming and bawling for the pain to end! Then I'll go! You think this changes anything? That I'll admire you for saving…for trying to save me? Did it ever occur to you that I didn't WANT you to save me! You don't deserve that honor! He did! He saved me when he left and he'll save me when we're together forever. You just picked up where he left off and did a piss-poor job at it! You'll always be second best to him and less than nothing to me! I still win, you got that? I still beat you! I save the world, not you! I'm the savior!! And it doesn't matter what you do, who you think you are, or how much you rewrite the history books on vampires, you're not him. To love you may be the greatest thing ever, but it's shit to me!! And nothing you do will change that!! Angel and I still know what it means to be a hero! You'll never be a hero to me! And in the end it's my view of you that matters most. That gives me the power! I choose who to love and who's worthy of it! And I don't--I won't choose YOU!!! YOU. ARE. NOT. HIM.

" I mean it," he finally said somberly, with purpose. "I gotta do this."

Telling herself she was doing it just to see if he was actually stuck, Buffy reached out. And Spike reached out and grabbed her. She was about ready to take his head off and claim the amulet as her own for trying to ignite her in flames, but much to her disappointment the fire didn't burn her. It warmed her. And it didn't dim. It must mean something. Shouldn't it?

And the feeling was ecstatic. She stared across their joined hands and then she remembered who was the one holding her.

Give it to him. Show your power over him. He's never been told it in his life. And it would be so beautiful for him to hear and not be able to do anything about it. I still win, asshole.

"I love you," she said softly. _That's all you're getting. And I didn't mean any of those three syllables. You should know how I really feel about you. I kissed him and I loved it. I wanted to eat him up! Utterly consume him!_

Buffy wasn't sure if Spike had actually read her true feelings through their union or just had to get the last word in like always, but once again, the indefatigable Big Bad spoiled everything. Like always.

"No, you don't. But thanks for saying it."

She looked at him speechless. No comeback. No scream. Nothing. She didn't have the strength for any of their shit anymore. He did it. He beat her. He didn't believe her lie. He still had the power. Even at the end.

In the end, she was nothing.

The cavern rocked again. And Buffy ripped her hand free from the vampire's clammy grip. Actually, rather easily, considering he didn't make much effort to hold on.

"Now go!"

She had so much left she wanted to let fly at him and destroy him. But in the end, glory or no. Or redemption. Victory. Salvation. Heaven. It didn't matter. There were only three absolutes.

He was dead. And she lived. And she could be with Angel.

She fled, hearing bits of "see" and "end" coming from him. Acting stoic, resolute, and courageous.

He had no concept of any of those terms.

Good riddance.


	6. Chapter Six: Victory

She soared. She wanted to dance a jig. She was finally free.

The spell had freed her from her destiny. The amulet freed her from her darkness.

She could finally be in the light.

She fluctuated between laughter and tears. The laughter she understood and welcomed. And the tears were happy ones.

She thought.

But when she reached that roof she quaked with violent tremors too powerful to be considered joyful. Her face contorted in a horrible grimace. She didn't feel like laughing through them like the earlier ones. No, these threatened to shake her whole body apart.

Couldn't say why, exactly.

It was only when she saw the bus that her survival instincts kicked in. And she channeled her Slayer agility like never before.

She leapt as the theater collapsed, suspended in mid-air.

I can see it. I can see heaven. It's calling to me. Angel, it's calling to me.

Physics took over and gravity asserted itself.

She wondered what would happen if she missed the bus. Would she feel her body as it ripped apart in the abyss of the crater? Would she be at peace like Spike?

The hard thump of metal that knocked the wind out of her answered her question.

After that everything was a blur. She instinctively hugged Dawn, but there was nothing behind it. Just something you do when you make it out alive. A cliché.

Giles asked who made the crater. She mumbled Spike, she thinks. But she doesn't really know.

And then she just kind of stood there. Blank. She'd had lots of practice after she came back. How could she not? But it was different this time. She felt hollowed out. But she'd won.

Hadn't she?

Of course I won. Because I'm alive. And Angel is waiting.

And at that, she allowed a smile and tried to ignore the unrelenting pains which strangled her stomach.


	7. Epilogue 1: The Sister

My sister is a hopeless basket case.

You'd expect her to be all glad we won. Sad we lost Anya and Spike, obviously. I mean, who wouldn't? But it wasn't in vain. We beat the Big Bad, closed the Hellmouth. I say it's Miller Time!

If I was at legal age I'd say that. And I'm sure both of them would appreciate the toast.

Buffy just sat there, though, blank. Nothing. She rubbed at her arms a few times like she was scratching at some mosquito bites or something. But I figured it was just PTS. Post Traumatic Syndrome.

Xander would have called it shell-shock. Then start talking about George C. Scott and that movie Patton. He loves those war films.

A couple times she threw up. Xander and Giles can't drive big vehicles smoothly at all.

Not like Spike.

Anyway, we drove to L.A. and Angel was kind enough to put us up for the night at his old digs at the Hyperion. I thought he and Buffy would be glad to see each other, old loves and all. But they stayed at opposite ends and could barely talk. I think it was hi or maybe even a nod. And they couldn't even look at each other.

I figure they're just waiting for some time alone. Maybe he heard about Spike. It'd be nice to hear Buffy tell him what a hero he was. I'm sure she was proud.

I don't know what's going to happen after this. Giles says Cleveland. But I'm convinced the only demon there is Drew Carey.

Willow's heading down south with Kennedy. They'd better be good.

Xander's thinking about traveling abroad.

Giles…well, you know.

As for me and Buffy, after she snaps back to life again, I don't know. But I can't wait. No more Hellmouths. No more demons. Nothing but Slayers to roundup and train. The adventures are just beginning. But for my sister, she can finally rest.

She's earned it.


	8. Epilogue 2: The Watcher Former

Demon Hunter's Journal Entry,

Warily do I wander the halls of Wolfram and Hart, these days.

Fred is getting along well with her department. Especially with a youg chap named Knox. Confident know-it-all, is the young Mr. Knox. Always has the right answers. Fred should be smitten with him in about, oh say, a week. And during that interim I shall avoid both of them to the best of my abilities.

Gunn has taken well to his…transformation is the only word that should suffice. I can't say he's Charles Gunn any longer. Not the Gunn I know, at any rate. But he's made himself a damn fine lawyer. He fits the mold well.

Lorne seems preoccupied with everything Wolfram and Hart has to offer in entertainment. I don't think I'll ever look at William Hung the same way ever again. But if the audience knew what I knew, they'd kill him immediately. No excuse for it really. Simon Cowell should have had it aborted before it reached term. Has no one to blame but himself.

Harmony has finally learned how to use the rolodex and the hold button and which end of the receiver to talk into. And she is totally incapable of carrying a mug without spilling it. But Angel hasn't killed her yet so…

Angel.

Eve…is no Lilah.

I believe I've put it off long enough. Angel has acquitted himself very well as CEO of Wolfram and Hart. Very well, indeed. We always knew we would have to pick our battles here. Unwritten rule of heroism: Can't save everyone so save who you can. Angel, apparently, is still trying to decide whom to save. He has already let four demon tribes who have committed human sacrificial orgies get off on a technicality, a demon-spawn Mormon Elder who has spread his demon seed to at last count a hundred "wives" to form his own church of offspring to worship Cthulhu so he can return and enslave the Earth. If that weren't bad enough, the church was funded by the ne'er do well great-grand nephew thrice removed of Lovecraft himself. At the time of this writing, the wives have all been incinerated by W&H agents, the potent demon sperm resides in the vaults at Wolfram and Hart, The Elder has been banished from the Mormon faith and is currently being held in a trans-dimensional limbo that is unfortunately in ideological gridlock for a millennia (his parole board meeting is tomorrow because he spent a day and a half of a googolplex sentence serving time with "good behavior") and the great-grand nephew is picking up trash along the I-5 wearing a very stylish orange jumpsuit.

Angel's reponse to all this? "It's only murder."

I've never doubted him before, and I'd follow him to hell if he asked me, but either he's come up with a brilliantly understated plan or he's lost something. Something valuable.

I trust my instincts, though. Under Angel I've honed them to a sharp awareness. I trust that Angel is biding his time to strike. As a soldier I will await my commander's orders.

And follow him.


	9. Epilogue 3: The Slayer

She wouldn't rest. She never rested.

The Immortal always stared at her like that. Kind of fearful yet excited. He wasn't used to these long marathons. And his face implored for some kind of break to these excesses.

She, of course, had the practice.

They did it everywhere. The graveyard. The morgue. On shards of glass like that sucky Madonna movie. She once gave him a piece to threaten her with while they fucked. And halfheartedly (he was never a very good actor in these things) he would threaten to cut up her face if she didn't give him an orgasm. And, right on cue, she'd squeeze his balls to the point of liquidity if they were human, and the semen (or whatever the fuck the shit was) would fill her core to the rim. And then she would grab his head, punch him a few times untilhe vamped out and make him drink blood from her cunt.

He wanted it in other ways, too, obviously. And she had to give it to him, he was a romantic. He just wanted to hold her while they both slept in each other's arms.

But she couldn't sleep. Too many monsters to kill.

She honed her killer instincts so fine. Amazingly shut off all concerns, except that one permeating drive. Kill.

So she went to vampire nests armed only with a stake and herself. She made sure it was more than one. If it was one, she usually let it live. She'd paralyze them and make them drink their own blood. Maybe stab them everywhere but the heart. But the poor beast would be a wreck, no question. She sometimes handed them a stake and told them to do what they wanted while she just sat down and watched. Nine times out of ten, it would be dust.

It was in a horde of vampires, though, where she excelled.

She'd take twenty, thirty if she was lucky. And it'd be like Muhammad Buffy vs.the grill guy. Playing grave-a-dope. Knowing that with them probably being sadistic and evil creatures they'd beat her up and punish her, waiting too long to kill her. Too easy, just doing that. And taunt her. Oh, yes, they'd taunt her. And there'd be gashes running everywhere through every orifice. Coughing up all kinds of interesting fluids and things. One time she actually just stared at what came out. It looked a black tar. Not even remotely close to blood. She'd be barely hanging on. Fading in and out. Waiting for one of them to finally taste her. Let her sleep.

But then driven by….shit, probably that same darkness that she always seemed to sink back into like a warm bed, she'd attack.

And the beautiful thing, the thing that really made her glow inside, was that she did it without the grace or beauty like before, like a warrior they sing about in those old ancient tales. No dance. It was…brutal, the way a Slayer should be. She'd twist off their heads. Break limbs. Tear off limbs. She found out she was so strong she could actually punch a hole through a vampire. She'd grab gravestones and crush their heads, instantly dusting them. She once rammed the stake through a vamp's nostrils all the way to the back of the brain. And the hilarious thing about it, he had his chest wide open for staking! She really didn't need to do it through the nose, she just wanted to. It was surprising how easy it was to be an animal. How freeing.

Vampires began to cry in fear whenever they crossed her path. Pleading for quick death as they saw her bathed in blood, her hair a mass with no coloration at all, her eyes wild, feral, uncomprehending of humanity and compassion. Only knowing how to kill. Whatever. Whenever. Human. Demon. Evil. Innocent. All the same. All vulnerable. Weak. It was the oddest, most liberating thing.

And she never wanted it to end. When it ended, the stomach pains would get worse. And she'd get sick. She always got sick now, it seemed. She didn't even recognize what came out of her.

And then she would be so amped. Just amped. She would stake the air in vigorous motions. And then feeling that anxiousness, start running that stake up and down her arms. Figure-eights, swastikas, Buffy & Angel 4 Ever!, all sorts of shit.

Up and down, side to side, trickles, to streams, to rivers. When she got a good flow going she hoped she'd find a vamp to make drink from her. Course she'd make it hard. She'd take a rock about the size of both fists and ram it clear to the back of his throat breaking its jaw.. Then let it drip on the rock. Drippity. Drip. Drip. And maybe the poor guy'll get some blood trickling down the sides, who knew? Wonder if he could swallow?

But most of the time she wasn't so lucky. She'd just walk back home, the red ocean up and down her arms. Her face and head an indistinguishable mess, her bones shattered, but already feeling that goddamned Slayer healing power kick in. It came along faster now, like Wolverine fast, ever since she closed the Hellmouth. Ever since she was a hero for the last time. As if the Slayer in her refused to die. Refused to rest.

She hated it. And she loved it.

She'd take off her clothes, hearing joints pop and bones grinding together, running the water to put her cuts under them, but then deciding against it, just letting the healing power do its thing while she watched the blood run down the drain. Drippity. Drip. Drip.

Then she'd sit in the bed for awhile. Think about what she had to do the next day. What other brats she had to train. What kind of hazing games she could pull on the new recruits to toughen them up. Turn them into Slayers.

She wished that mystic key mini whore could help her, but she interrupted her breakfast one too many times to ask her why she was so quiet and then yammered on about the vampire who fucked things up for her in the Hellmouth. Her head was very easy to twist off. Called the rest of them and told her she died in battle. They grieved. All of it predictable, boring, and useless.

But anyway she didn't close her eyes.

Eventually she'd lay down, fighting to keep them open. Dawn would be coming around the corner soon. And by that time her eyes would give into their biological need, shutting themselves.

Then she'd be back there. In that hole. And she'd see it all again in Technicolor. The flames. His beatific face. The iridescently divine glowing. And she'd feel it. The fire. The warmth. The calm. The ecstasy. Then came the disintegration and the ashes. And the warmth and the light would vanish. Leaving only darkness. And the encroaching cold.

Her eyes would fly open then.

And she'd scream.

And she'd cry.

And she'd never rest.

DONE

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Episode quotes and research for this story come courtesy of Thanks for reading.

Tallgent

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